


wake up and she'll be home

by perlaret



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Married Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emotion swells within her chest. Post series 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wake up and she'll be home

The sky is growing light behind the curtains, the dark of night fading to the dull gray of a cloudy morning, and Mary stirs. The room is cool–too early yet for anyone to have come and tended the fires–but beneath the covers it is warm with the heat of two bodies, Matthew's arm tucking her close to him. Her eyes open slowly and she tilts her head to see him, his face tranquil in repose, his lips parted softly. Lips she had kissed the night before, and before that, and would again before long.

My husband, Mary thinks, and wonders at the words.

But it is morning and nature calls, so Mary gives pause to such thoughts for now to attend to necessity, slipping from his embrace as carefully as she can, shivering as she slips into her robe and casting a rueful glance at their abandoned bedclothes on the floor. So much for propriety.

When she returns, Matthew is awake, blinking sleepily and sitting up, coverlet drawn high about his shoulders.

"There you are," he says, voice rusty still from sleep, and then after a moment opens the blankets to her in invitation. This is yet new, and shyness still steals through her, but Mary doesn't hesitate long, shedding her robe again and returning to his arms.

"Good morning," Mary says as Matthew tucks the blankets about her, then slides his arms back around her waist.  She slips her hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat against her palm. She tentatively tilts her face towards his and he replies with a kiss, gentle and sweet. Emotion swells within her chest.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks.

"Mmhmm," Mary murmurs, letting her eyes drift closed as he nuzzles her cheek and presses another kiss to her left cheek, exactly where she knows there's a mole, then lifts his chin and presses another to the one on her forehead, usually hidden by the fall of her hair.

He's always affectionate but especially so in the earliest hours, before they've started their day. When she was younger, Mary thought her parents were silly in their devotion to each other, but she'd been naive and she knows that now. Now she'd known unhappiness, faced the prospect of an unwanted union for years, and rejecting this kind of intimacy after all of that seemed the height of foolishness.

This is hers, she thinks, Matthew is hers, and she wouldn't let any of it slip away again.

Matthew's head dips, his mouth finding the arc of her throat, and she sighs, turning in his arms towards him and pressing herself against his body, the chill from her venture outside the bed dissipating altogether. He makes a rough noise against her skin and pulls her tighter to him, one hand skipping down to palm her hip.

"Yes," Mary murmurs, reaching up to rake her fingers into his hair, pushing one messy lock back from his forehead, and he reaches further down to pull her thigh over his. Matthew's fingers dance over her skin and then between her legs, searching, finding, stroking. He circles his thumb against her and Mary shudders, pressing her nose into her hair, breathing his name. Matthew strews nibbling kisses over her collarbones and over the tops of her breasts.

Mary tightens her grip in his hair and pulls his mouth from her, tipping his face towards her so she can kiss him, hot and messy, all tongue and teeth. She mumbles a word, tells him, "now," against the corners of his mouth, and the sound he makes is inarticulate but unquestionably agreement.

She steals a bold hand between them, finds him hot and hard, and strokes him once, twice. Matthew spluttered and groans, his hands slipping and then finding purchase against her hip, fingers pressing hard into her skin, and Mary smiles. She hitches her leg higher over his and presses in, guiding them together, her own eyes fluttering at the feeling of their joining. She bites her lip, then changes her mind and bites his instead.

They make love that way, face to face on the pillow, forehead to forehand, mouth to mouth. The edges of the room begin to brighten with the morning light, signs of life beginning to stir outside their room, and perhaps they should hurry, but for this moment there is nothing but this, but this bed and them together. Nothing but Matthew.

It is slow and sometimes halting, the angle imperfect but so are they. That doesn't change the way it feels to be like this. Matthew's hips rock steadily into hers, his fingers seeking out that spot again, the darkness behind her eyelids starting to sparkle with stars. Mary tracks her hand over his back, nails against his skin, and groans his name and gives herself over to the rush of her blood, the thrill of his touch. Matthew moans into her neck.

It's not perfect, but maybe it is.

Later they catch their breath, and Matthew smiles at her over the pillowcase, his hand finding hers, intertwining their fingers.

"It's going to be a lovely day," he says, a damp curl of hair falling incorrigibly back over his forehead.

"Yes," Mary agrees, "it will be."

It's a happy thought.


End file.
